Teresa Southwick - Shotgun Vows

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he said, “but isn’t she twenty-one? Why does she need looking after?”

“She’s been sheltered. She trusts everyone and has never met a stranger. My four brothers and I have always watched out for her. But she’s changed since she got to Texas. What do you people put in the water?”

Dawson blinked. “Excuse me?”

“There’s something going around and it’s called Matrimony. Seems to be catching. Soon my brother Brody and Jillian will be tying the knot. But it all started with my brother Reed when he married your sister.”

Dawson and his half sister Mallory hadn’t grown up together. Different mothers. But his gut told him his sister’s match with Griff’s brother was a good one. “I’ve never seen her happier.”

“Reed, too.” One corner of Griff’s mouth lifted as he sat up straighter in the chair. “On top of that, Mattie’s been acting strange ever since she found out that Jillian is going to have a baby. I overheard her tell Jillian that she wants one of her own soon. I wouldn’t put it past her to run off with one of the ranch hands at the Double Crown.”

Dawson couldn’t remember ever hearing Griff string together that many sentences. Obviously the guy was really concerned. With a sister of his own, Dawson could understand the protective instinct. But he was a financial analyst for crying out loud. Granted, he worked for the family company, Fortune TX, Ltd. But surely they wouldn’t expect him to nursemaid Matilda Fortune, the troublemaker cousin from Australia.

The assignment was definitely above and beyond the call of duty. He worked on spreadsheets… Bad choice of words. Instantly he thought of Matilda’s long legs and tangled bed sheets. Damn, this was a bad idea. He’d agreed reluctantly, and only because he’d never actually expected Griff to take him up on it. Now he wished he’d never said yes.

The question was how he could gracefully get out of this. Here goes, he thought ruefully.

“She doesn’t like me much, Griff. Surely you’ve noticed. If looks could kill, I’d be a chalk outline on the floor. Wouldn’t it be better if you found someone else for guard duty?”

“There are three things that make you an ideal candidate for this assignment.” Dawson didn’t miss the harnessed strength in the other man’s wrist and forearm as he held up three fingers. “One—Reed is on his honeymoon, and Brody is too preoccupied with his own upcoming wedding and becoming a father in a couple of months to do the job justice. Two—you’re practically a Fortune, being my cousin Zane’s friend and all. Three—you’re right. She hates your guts.” He grinned. “That makes you perfect for the job, mate.”

“I’ve got number four.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“She’s just a kid.”

He was eleven years her senior, a fact he’d pointed out at his first meeting with the Australian she-devil. Not that he was old. She’d figured that out all by herself. They’d accompanied Reed and Mallory to the rodeo. All Dawson had said was that he hadn’t expected Reed’s sister to be so young. That had instantly gotten Matilda’s back up, and she’d fired off her own verbal shot.

Even if Dawson were attracted to her—at least the “her” that was separate from those dynamite legs—the disparity in their ages was something he would never get past. After his parents had split up, his father had married a much younger woman—a fact that had angered and embittered his mother. She’d had her nose rubbed in the fact that she was no longer young and had no weapons to fight for her man. Dawson had vowed that he would never use a woman and toss her aside like yesterday’s meat loaf. Furthermore, he would never make the same mistakes his father had.

He wasn’t like his father. He would never be like him.

Griff nodded. “By process of elimination as well as default, you’re the ideal candidate.”

Dawson knew he had no choice, and the thought rankled. He wasn’t a man who liked being backed into a corner. “How long are you going to be gone?”

Griff shrugged. “There’s no way to know for sure. I’ll do my best to get back before Brody and Jillian’s wedding.”

That was just over three weeks away, the weekend before Thanksgiving. Dawson figured he could handle Matilda Fortune that long.

He nodded slowly. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t run off with a cowboy.”

“Good. One favor, Dawson.”

“I’m already doing you a favor.”

“Then do yourself one. Don’t let Mattie know what you’re up to.”

“She wouldn’t like it?”

Griff laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. “That’s an understatement. She doesn’t like being treated like a kid. She’s a grown woman, she says.”

“Yeah, that message got through loud and clear,” Dawson commented.

“Then if you know what’s good for you, don’t let on that I asked you to keep an eye on her.”

“I’ll do my best,” he promised.

Satisfied, Griff held out his hand. “I owe you, mate.”

And then some, Dawson thought, hoping he wouldn’t live to regret this. It was the first of November and the promise he’d made just about guaranteed that he could kiss off having only good days for three-quarters of the month.

Matilda Fortune listened to the clunk of her boots on the foyer tile as she made her way to the Double Crown Ranch’s great room. She stopped when her heels sank into the thick carpet. The large open hearth held a cheery fire. On the other wall, French doors opened to one of the house’s two courtyards. Large leather couches and comfortable chairs in groupings that invited intimate conversation were arranged in several places in the large room.

Since her arrival from Australia several months ago, she found it was her uncle Ryan and aunt Lily’s custom to spend the evening in the great room. Tonight was no exception. They were sitting side by side on one of the leather sofas, having after-dinner drinks with their other houseguest, Willa Simms. She was Ryan’s goddaughter. Willa’s father and Ryan had been best friends in Vietnam, a bond that remained strong until her dad died of cancer. She was still very close to Uncle Ryan—like one of his children.

Through an archway to her right she could see the dining room and the living room beyond. A huge painted armoire, and Western-style pieces including antler lamps and Native American prints, gave the room warmth and personality. She liked the house in spite of its intimidating size and the fact that she always felt as if she brought the outdoors inside as soon as she walked in.

Mattie moved farther into the room until she faced her aunt and uncle. “I didn’t see Griff’s car outside. Does anyone know where my brother is?”

She knew the answer even as the words came out of her mouth. If Griff’s car were here, she would have known his whereabouts. He was joined at the hip with her. Her shadow. Her keeper. If his car was gone, he must be on one of his mysterious trips.

“He left on business, dear,” her aunt said, confirming Mattie’s guess. “He wasn’t sure when he would be back, but asked me to tell you not to worry.”

“From his mouth to God’s ear.” Mattie whispered her usual fervent prayer.

Telling her not to worry was like asking the wind not to blow. Griff would never confide details to anyone in the family about what he did when he was away. He said the less they knew, the better. How could they not worry when someone they loved said that?

But she smiled at her aunt and uncle, not wanting to upset them or let anyone know her feelings. There was nothing they could do or say to ease her mind.

Mattie studied her aunt and uncle, thighs brushing while holding hands. As always, she was struck by what a handsome couple they were. She knew they were both in their early fifties, but neither looked it. Lily’s eyes were the color of a moonless night, and her shiny black bob, along with the beautiful bone structure in her face, revealed her Spanish and Indian heritage. She was still a lovely woman and must have been a stunner as a young girl.